


Dean Winchester's Five Ways to Get Cas Drunk: A Mixology Guide

by orphan_account



Series: The Inter-Fandom Mixology Guides [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angel Castiel, Drunk Castiel, Drunk Dean, M/M, Sex in the Impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2089110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because he's an angel doesn't mean that you can't get him very, very thoroughly drunk. And maybe very, very thoroughly screwed, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester's Five Ways to Get Cas Drunk: A Mixology Guide

**Author's Note:**

> So the Mixology Guide that I made for Star Trek was met so well that I decided to make one for Supernatural! It's really fun making these, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Yes, these are all real drinks, and there's a list at the end of the fic of their original names and where I found the recipes for them.  
> Cheers!

_Number One: The 'How the Hell Does He Do That, That's Like His Eighteenth Beer'_

The first way to get Castiel properly drunk, is to give him more shots than a high-capacity magazine can carry, so break out all of the shot glasses that the pantry's got. Then open a bottle of Jose Cuervo, the cheap kind you picked up from the gas station in the last town over, pouring one ounce into each glass (line 'em up like they were Tylenol, make sure there's no less than twenty), add another ounce of blackberry brandy or whatever other kind of hard-hitting shit you've got stored around here somewhere, then top off with a final ounce of club soda. Or, better yet, let him drink it straight. Laugh your ass off when he downs the last one easily, ignore the fact that Sam is thinking you're a douchebag for doing this, then grab the Jose Cuervo back from the other end of the table. Take straight tequila shots until you're both about as drunk as John Winchester after a bad hunt, and realize for the first time that Cas smiling is like heaven opening up, no pun intended, and that his eyes could make the ocean look grey in comparison.

Pro-tip: You'll know it's time to help Cas stumble back to his bed when he begins to speak in pure, if not a little slurred, Enochian. 

 

_Number Two: The 'You'd Make a Terrible Hunter, But You're My Friend, And That's All That Counts'_

Collect two regular glasses from the cupboard, and pour an ounce of Everclear alcohol into each. Add 5 oz cherry liqueur, the good kind, because he deserves it, and then fill the rest of the space with Pepsi cola. Put the drinks down on Baby's hood and take a seat, then pray for him to get his feathery ass down here so you can properly tell him you're sorry. Wait until he does, and by this time the Pepsi is nearly flat, but it doesn't really matter. When he sits down next to you offer him the drink, try to get a convincing smile onto your lips, and down the damn thing. Don't stop until the soda makes your eyes water. Let him tell you he's sorry, tell him the same thing, let him finish his drink, and lean back until you're lying against the windshield of the Impala. notice the fact that he's staring at you, push down the fact that you like it, try to come up with another conversation to have with your holy tax accountant, fail, try again. When he lies back next to you pretend that that doesn't make your pulse spike like a damn firecracker. Once the liquor does it's job, go ahead and let yourself look back at him. When he kisses you... Well, you know what to fucking do.  

 

_Number Three: The 'You Scared Me So Much Don't **Do** That Dammit', AKA The 'I'm Pretty Sure I Just Called You My Angel But I'm Going to Deny the Hell Out of It'_

Pray to him every single night. When he doesn't show, worry out of your goddamn mind. Keep worrying until he appears one night, beaten and bloody and utterly heart-breaking. Clean him up, trying to be careful, and don't focus on the fact that he's fucking _staring_ at you like he's trying to find the answers to the universe in your face. Prop him up against the Impala and get out the flask of Tanqueray gin you keep in the glove box. When he tips his head back to drink the last dregs of it, swallow and drop your eyes from his goddamn throat, and _no_ , you're definitely not thinking about kissing his jugular, biting down on the skin there, wondering what sorts of noises he makes when you're on top of him. Pick back up the bloodied rag you were using to clean off his cuts and let loose your arsenal of obscenities, going back to work fixing up your- _the_ \- angel. When you say that slip-up out loud ("my angel" tastes so fucking good on your tongue) cover it up with a few well-placed "you stupid fucking asshole what were you thinking"s and "I swear to _God_ Cas I will handcuff you to Sam you can't keep getting the shit beat out of you"s until it seems the danger's blown over. Fish back in the glove box for the Smirnoff and split the bottle with him. And don't you go getting all sappy when he says "I'm sorry, Dean" in that broken little voice that tells you that you mean the world to him. Instead, kiss the damn bastard. When you feel his fingers in your hair push him up against the Impala's door like it was going out of style.       

 

_ Number Four: The 'Sam's Not Home Which Means I Have You To Myself'  _

First things first, take a shower, because this motel room could not possibly get any worse than it already is. And you would know, you've stayed hundreds of them. Don't jump out of your skin when Cas appears behind the bathroom door in full angelic glory (with you, of course, dressed in nothing but a motherfucking towel around your waist). Remind him of the whole 'personal space' thing, then stroll over to the fridge with as much forced casualness as you can muster, because of course you can't feel his eyes slipping down your nearly-naked body. Pull out a 1/2 pint of beer and throw it into a pair of Dixie cups. Top it with 1/4 pint lager and 1 1/2 tbsp gold tequila, give one to Cas, and sit down to chug yours. Notice the way that he doesn't even seem to acknowledge the drink, but keeps looking at you in a way that makes you want to jump him, stupid trench coat, stupid tie included. When you finish yours and he moves toward you, try not to hyperventilate when he gets too close, and when he kisses you, don't you dare melt. Don't. You are a hunter wrapped in liquor wrapped in grief wrapped in stubble and you aren't going to melt for this goddamn angel. 

Do it anyway, get him up and push him against the wall, pull off his stupid jacket and his stupid tie, shivering when his tongue meets yours. And then, because this motel is not the place to fuck an angel of the Lord, pull him out of there and get him into the back of the Impala. Let the alcohol do its job and convince yourself that the warmth in your chest is just the lager, and is totally _not_ a reaction to Cas's hands all over you. But god _damn_ does that feel right anyway. Smile each and every time that he moans into your mouth when his pants come off, when he uses his Grace to trace little lines of heat across your skin from his fingertips, when he digs his nails into your sides, when he tries to flip you over- you can tell he wants to top but no way in _hell_ is that going to happen. You've got him where you want him and you let him know with your teeth down his chest, across his shoulders, just over his pelvis.

Afterward, reach over and roll him back over to face you, then smile- and mean it- and let him fall asleep like that, lying against you in the Impala, his hands on your chest, even though you stay up for hours after he's out cold, watching the rise and fall of his body. Realize that this is where you want to be for the rest of your life.

  

_ Number Five: The 'Jesus I Like The Way You Look In My Car'_

Waking up, roll over and stretch, trying not to wake up Cas. When you end up staring into big blue eyes like mini-Mediterraneans, smile at him, crawling over his gorgeous half-covered body (those _hips_ , Jesus) and close enough to the steering wheel to get to the glove box, and pull out the secret stash of Alize Red Passion liqueur you keep there, away from Sam. Acknowledge how ironic the name is, then move back to lie down with Cas. He smiles at you, just slightly, when you pop the cap, and you take turns nursing it down, sharing a lot more than just a drink you know, as Cas's fingers find yours and twine together instinctively. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so these drinks were all recipes I found online at drinksmixer.com (besides 3 and 5), and are, in order, as follows:  
> 1) Black Cactus (with Jose Cuervo)  
> 2) Cherry Coke From Hell  
> 3)... Basically, just gin and vodka. That's it.  
> 4) All Killer with No Filler  
> 5) Just Alize liqueur. Nothing fancy.


End file.
